Found in the Dark
by Hollywood Here We Come
Summary: Caitlyn is sick of her parents' hypocritical lectures. Why don't they just understand like they say they do? Caitlyn/?, Oneshot.


A bit of information about this story: it takes place before Caitlyn actually goes to Camp Rock, before she even realizes that she wants to pursue music as a career. Don't forget to read and review!

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I ignored the rain that pounded on me and buried my head in my arms as I sat on the curb a few blocks away from my house. The cold and the dark were oddly comforting; I could pretend that it was the rain rolling continuously down my cheeks.

Why were my parents so frustrating? Why didn't they just get it? They were the ones who always said they understood, that they went through it when they were my age. And yet when I needed them to use that so-called experience to help me through something, it went up in the air with the wind. Gone. They didn't understand me anymore.

That night, I couldn't take it. The yelling, the fighting, the flat out refusal to see the other person's point of view. It was too much. So I left, and ran four blocks to a place that was far from my family. A place where I could breathe, despite the fact that it was pouring rain and probably close to freezing.

As I let the fresh air clear my thoughts, I lifted my head and tried to see if they'd followed me. From what I could tell, I was still alone, so I took a deep breath, and began to stand.

I froze when I felt the hand on my shoulder. Panic exploded in my stomach, and even as I considered the thought that it might be my mom or dad, I scrambled to remember the small bit of kick-boxing I'd done with my sister a few months back so that I could defend myself. Just as I was tensing to throw a punch, the hand disappeared and I heard his voice for the first time.

"Wait, I'm sorry I scared you. Are you okay?"

The panic didn't go away immediately, but I found the voice a small comfort.

"I'm fine," I said shakily, wondering whether I should run or politely tell him I didn't talk to strangers. I finished standing up and turned to face him. Even in the dark, I could see that he was gorgeous. I could just make out his curly hair and the concerned frown on his face.

"I'm fine," I repeated, nervously brushing the wet hair back from my face. I must have looked pathetic, sitting in the cold, the dark and the rain all alone.

"It doesn't look like it," he observed, and I remembered that my face must have been all red and puffy from the crying. I made a lame attempt to cover it up by shaking my hair so it curtained my face.

"It's just been a rough night," I muttered, and pushed past him in the direction of my house, but I had a feeling he wasn't going to just let me walk away.

"Wait," he called, and I could hear his footsteps behind me. "Are you sure you're okay? I mean… I'm a good listener, if you want to talk. That's what my friends say, anyway. But you don't have to talk to me. You don't even know me," he laughed nervously. I turned to face him, and felt my heart skip a beat. He looked so adorable, almost like he was scared I would embarrass him and walk away.

"Do you have couple of minutes?" I asked him, ignoring the voice in the back of my head that screamed to walk away, pointed out the fact that he was a stranger and imagined every terrible thing that could result from talking to him.

"Definitely," he said, and followed be back to the curb. We both sat, and I stared at the road for a minute, trying to clear my head enough so I could explain what I was doing out there by myself.

It all came out in a rush.

"I'm just so tired of parents never being able to make up their minds. One minute they say one thing, then the next, it's like they'd never said anything in the first place. They're like, 'oh, great job on your math quiz, we're really proud of you', then ten minutes later it's 'you need to work harder in school, your grades are not as high as we'd like them to be'. Don't they get it? I'm _trying._ I try so hard to do well in school because I know they want me to be successful and to have a good career and everything, but they don't see it. I can't take the pressure anymore. I can't take it."

I hadn't realized that I was crying again, or that I was shaking from the cold until I felt his arms wrap around me and the warmth that radiated from his body. How strange, this boy I'd never met before in my life could comfort me so easily.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he murmured after what felt like hours. "I'm sorry that your parents don't see how hard you're trying." I didn't want to move. Maybe it was wrong, but I felt hugely relieved to have this stranger holding on to me. It was something no one had ever done for me before.

"Maybe you're going at things the wrong way," he said quietly, stroking my back now almost absent-mindedly. "You said you're trying to do well in school because your parents want you to be successful. What about you, though? What do you want?"

I thought about it for a minute. "I don't know," I admitted. "I never thought about it. I just want my parents to be happy."

"Well, you'll never be happy yourself if that's all you're trying to do. I'm willing to bet that they just want what's best for you, even if they express it in a way that doesn't really make sense."

"I don't see how that has to do with what my marks are right now," I pointed out, fighting my eyes to stay open. The circles he was tracing on my back were so relaxing, to the point where I could have easily fallen asleep right then and there.

"They want you to do well in school now so that when it comes to making decisions for your career path, you have as many options as you can going into college or university. That way you can pick one that makes you happy."

I wasn't sure how it had come this far between this stranger and me, but somehow he'd just opened my eyes to something that had never even occurred to me before. Wasn't this something parents were supposed to explain to you? Or teachers?

"I guess you're right," I said, gently pulling back from his arms. He let me go easily, and didn't move when I got up and stood in front of him. "Who _are _you?" I finally asked.

"I'm Nate," he grinned and stood with me. "Who are you?"

"Caitlyn," I told him. The panic I'd originally had around him was gone, and in its place was a warm glow that I'd never felt before. "Do you live around here?"

"Actually I don't," he said, frowning. "The car I was in broke down not too far from here; we're on our way to Toronto. I came out looking for help."

I wasn't sure why, but it felt like a wave of disappointment washed over me at his words. "Oh," I managed.

"Do you have a cell phone? I can call you sometime and maybe we can meet up again."

I took out my phone and programmed in his name and number while he took mine, and felt immensely better knowing we both had ways to keep in touch.

"I guess I'll see you around," he said, running a hand through his thick mane of curls. It was just then that I noticed the rain had stopped.

"Yeah. And… thanks," I hesitated, unsure of what to say. "For listening. And for the advice. What you said makes sense, I just never thought of it before."

"No problem," he smiled. "Nice to meet you, Caitlyn."  
"Nice to meet you too, Nate," I smiled back. I didn't want him to leave, at that point. I had to fight myself to keep from following him as he walked away, and it took even more effort to push myself to walk back towards home. I wanted to call him already, or text him. But I knew in the pit of my stomach that I had more important things to do, so I ignored the phone in my pocket and dragged myself home.


End file.
